


An Old, Aching Heart

by sshootingstarr



Series: 11/19 Aftermath [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Coffee Dad Sakura Sojiro, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Hurt Ren, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Consensual Drug Use, November 19th Aftermath, Parental Sojiro, Ren is a sweetheart, Sojiro's POV, i love him so much, post-interrogation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 20:30:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18395804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshootingstarr/pseuds/sshootingstarr
Summary: When Sojiro discovers the leader of the Phantom Thieves has committed suicide, his life grinds to halt. It starts back up again when the kid stumbles back into his cafe, brutally injured and in need of a little comfort.





	An Old, Aching Heart

**Author's Note:**

> And here it is! Sorry for the delay, but I guess I set myself up to take a long time with this considering I started my other fic during the pointy end of my school term. Oh well, this one's longer so it makes up for it... Right?
> 
> Anyway, here's Sojiro's POV of my previous fic. I had a lot of fun writing this, which actually sounds a little grim considering the topic... There can never be enough post-interrogation stories though, and I love Sojiro POV fics so here you go!
> 
> Thank you for the support on my last story! The comments really made me smile (*´∀`*) enjoy!

Sojiro Sakura pressed his tea towel over the mug gripped in his hands once more, before inspecting it’s cleanliness a final time. With a ‘hmph’ of approval, he placed it beside the others on the shelf, all freshly cleaned and shining in the warm lights of Leblanc Cafe. It’d been a slow afternoon, only two of his regulars making an appearance, and it gave Sojiro ample opportunity to complete the chores that he would have otherwise left for his freeloader-turned-employee, Ren. 

As Sojiro stood alone in his cafe that was usually bustling with life — whether it be his more excitable regulars picking up orders before the rush hour or the horde of energetic teens that recently had set up camp in Leblanc — he revelled in a temporary moment of peace. The sun outside was warm and bright, filtering in through the cafe door and taking the chill away from the mid-November air. 

Because Sojiro had stopped serving customers for the afternoon (there’s only so much time a man can spend sitting around waiting for someone to appear just so he could serve them coffee), the thick scent of spicy curry and coffee had began to seep away from the cafe. It was still present, of course; Sojiro believed that even if the building was torn down, years in the future, the ambience he had so delicately created in Leblanc would remain — the smell seemed to be ingrained in the wood beneath his feet at this point, as if painted into the cafe’s very bones. The smell he had become so used to had become something of a comfort to Sojiro, representative of a place where he could release his stress through his most familiar medium. 

Sojiro’s use of Leblanc this way had become most useful to him today. He distracted himself from his rampant nerves by brewing and cooking, and tried to ignore the worry that been itching at him since Ren, Futaba and their friends had left this morning. He knew the kids — that is, the vigilante group known as the Phantom Thieves that consisted of a bunch of high schoolers, his adoptive daughter and a delinquent Sojiro had taken under his care — were planning something big, and that today was a critical moment of their plan. The ‘make or break’ moment, so to speak. 

For the past few weeks, Futaba had seemed especially focused when she came to visit Ren, and less enthusiastic about things she would normally squeal about. Ren’s behaviour also changed, but in a different way — he went out more often, saw more of the strange friends he’d somehow made all over Tokyo, and came back home later than normal. He seemed as if he was preparing for something big; he always seemed full of an emotion that Sojiro interpreted as either anticipated or anxiety. And sometimes, late at night when his friends had left and even Futaba had turned in for the evening, Sojiro would see Ren sitting on his bed, a wishful and despondent look in his eye as he gazed out the attic’s dusty window and into the streets of Yongen-Jaya. When Sojiro inquired about Ren’s star-gazing, he was of course met with the dismissive response of “I’m only daydreaming” — but something about the distant look in his eyes made Sojiro wonder what the teenager could have been thinking about that would make him look so discouraged. 

It seemed Sojiro didn’t have to wait long for his burning question to be answered, much to his own eventual dismay. To focus his mind elsewhere, away from the worry that could quickly becoming crushing if Sojiro didn’t squash it down, he had turned on Leblanc’s television. It was a small thing, about six years old now, and Sojiro had only bought it because of the demands of his regulars. It hadn’t been an unwise purchase, despite its origin, as it provided Sojiro entertainment should a day be particularly slow — and right now, it provided him a welcomed distraction. He tuned into the television’s program, and continued organising the cafe’s mugs. 

The program that appeared, as it always played in the cafe, was the news. The headline instantly caught his attention, and Sojiro scrambled to turn on the volume, clutching two mugs in one hand and the other grasping for the remote he’d only just set down on the counter. 

“Approximately three hours ago, it was confirmed that the main suspect of the mental shutdown cases and the supposed leader of the vigilante group the Phantom Thieves of Hearts was apprehended outside the Courthouse.”

Time seemed to slow down. Sojiro’s stomach sank to his knees, and his mouth dropped open. He no doubt looked ridiculous in his shock. The new’s report continued on, reporting further details that only proved that no mistake could have been made in the arrest — the kid they were talking about, it was definitely Ren. Ren had been arrested, most likely caught red-handed. He was being held, right now, somewhere deep in the courthouse as Japan’s most wanted. He’d been caught breaching the rules of his probation, engaging in activities the police deemed worst of the worst, and he’d be sent directly to Juvie. He’d be given a life sentence, doomed to never see the sunlight again. Or worse, he’d be—

“We have breaking news.” The stoic voice of the news reporter broke Sojiro from his spiralling. “The young man being held in custody has committed suicide. The police have confirmed his death.”

Sojiro froze.

No… Not Ren. This couldn't be real. This couldn’t happen to the kid, of all people. 

Ren was a hero. A leader of a vigilante group that saved lives and helped people. He was brave, and kind, and smart and so strong. Something like this couldn't have…

The porcelain mugs Sojiro was gripping slipped from his hands, and he felt himself leaning against the counter for support. His insides twisted and turned, and his legs suddenly seemed unable to support him as the reality of what this news meant sank in. He sucked in a shaky breath and shut his eyes. 

It was lucky there were no customers in Leblanc in that moment, because the resounding crash of the two coffee mugs smashing against the floor drowned out the noise of the television momentarily. When the sound returned, and Sojiro once again listened to the voice of the newscasters talking about the leader of the phantom thieves — his kid, that was his kid they were talking about — he was filled with rage. _Good riddance,_ they were saying. _Criminal. Evil. We’re safe now._

Sojiro hadn’t even realised he’d moved, but all of a sudden the television was off and the remote was flying across the room. He slammed his fists down on the countertop, forcing back the tears that were now in his eyes. The kid’s cat — Morgana, his mind provided for him — was meowing as loud as he'd ever heard, but Sojiro didn't quite have the energy to pay attention to one of the only things the kid had left behind so he opened the cafe door and watched as the cat sprinted away. As the door closed once more, Sojiro flicked the closed sign into place and then sank onto one of the bar stools. 

Ren was a kid— just a _kid_ , and he’d been arrested and taken into custody and Sojiro hadn’t been able to do _anything_. The kid was Japan’s most wanted; a terrorist, who the government had been downright desperate to catch because he was something they didn't understand and it scared them. And Sojiro _knew_ what the government did to people like that, what they would have done to _Ren_ , and that fact only made it so much worse. 

This kid — _his kid,_ who'd he'd grown so fond of he wished was his own, not that he’d ever admit it — had been interrogated, probably, and hurt and attacked by the people who were meant to protect. Ren had died without any hope, in some dark and disgusting basement surrounded by cops who wanted to kill him because he was just trying to do what was _right._ Had he been scared? Did he cry? Time seemed to drag on and on, and Sojiro wished more than anything that he could just turn it back, that he could go and help this kid and bring him home once more. 

And Jesus Christ, he was just a kid, wasn’t he? Only in his second year of high school, and he'd been framed for assault by some asshole who didn't even have the decency to show up to his trial. He’d made to Leblanc, been put on probation by sheer miracle, only be treated like shit by Sojiro who couldn’t care enough to see past his facade at first. And then he'd face all odds and tore down every single one of them — he'd made friends, amazing and loyal friends, taken down corrupt adults in this second world Sojiro could never hope to understand, and all the while managed to remain one of the best people Sojiro had ever met. 

But none of that mattered anymore. It’d become too much, and there was nothing Ren could do until he’d been forced to turn to suicide. The bright, quiet and compassionate boy who had wormed his way into Sojiro’s heart was dead — Just like Wakaba. Gone. 

_Gone._ The funny and generous kid who’d helped him out in the cafe and who was polite to his customers and always listened to what Sojiro had to say was gone. He wouldn’t be around to do his homework downstairs with his friends anymore, or hang out with that strange cat he’d brought home all those months ago. He wouldn't be around to reassure Sojiro when Futaba decided to go outside again, or to comfort him when he’d been alone too long with his thoughts. He wouldn’t be there to silently drink coffee with him when he thought about Wakaba. He wouldn’t be there at all anymore — the kid had died alone, lost and so horribly scared that he thought his only option was to end it all.

How could Sojiro let this happen? Ren was Sojiro’s responsibility. His charge. Sojiro was meant to protect him, to save him, but somehow he’d let Ren down. Again. Even after all Ren had done for him. This kid had saved him, instead; He’d saved Futaba, who Sojiro had thought could never be saved from her seemingly endless cycle of misery, depression and isolation. He’d saved Futaba from receding into herself, into nothingness, and in the process he’d saved Sojiro, too. Made him realise that maybe he did have a heart after all. And look where Ren ended up because of it. God knows how long it would be before he found a way to let Futaba down again, too. 

_Oh Lord, Futaba._ Futaba couldn't handle losing another person she cared about so soon. she’d fall apart all over again — and Sojiro thought that maybe he would, too. God, was there ever a time he wasn’t screwing things up for his kids? 

Sojiro dropped his face into his hands, and the once comforting silence of Leblanc suddenly seemed to constrict him. He found it hard to breathe around the lump in his throat, and his eyes teared up again. It wasn’t fair that he was allowed to be here, at his home — _Ren’s_ home — when the kid in question was probably miles away, wrapped in plastic and dead. It wasn’t fair at all. 

Sojiro didn’t know how long he had had been sitting on the stool, but the sudden knock on Leblanc’s doors startled him so much that his neck cracked when he turned to look up. He couldn’t make out the silhouette of the person through the orange shadows of the sunset — When had it even become dusk? — But Sojiro was _really_ not in the mood for pushy customers who couldn’t read a simple sign. He stormed to the cafe door and wrenched it open, intending to immediately send them away so he could be alone again. Just like always. 

“What part of the sign do you people not understand, for God’s sake?” Sojiro grunted, fully aware of how aggressive he sounded, but not having the energy to control himself. 

“Sojiro,” As Sojiro’s eyes came to focus on who was he front of him — Sae Niijima — his hands dropped from the door knob in surprise. “I need your help, urgently.”

_She_ needed _his_ help? After everything she’d done to Sojiro? To him and Futaba? To _Ren?_ No. Absolutely not. Sojiro would not allow Niijima to destroy his life any further. He wouldn’t allow anyone to take anything else. He narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders, staring the prosecutor down. 

“What more could you possibly want?” Sojiro wouldn’t let Niijima go near him or Futaba ever again. “After everything you people hav—”

Sojiro’s words fell short as Niijima stepped aside, and revealed the figure she’d been shielding. The kid was right there — bent over, unsteady on his feet, and unblinking eyes gazing at the floor — but there all the same. He was _alive._ Sojiro released a breath he hadn't realised he’d been holding, his arms going lax and his face morphing from anger to pure shock. 

“Oh my god, kid,” Sojiro reached for Ren, gripping his shoulder. “You— You’re…”

Ren leaned into his guardian’s touch, and raised his head to look at Sojiro. Sojiro held his arm tighter at the sight of his bruised and face and empty eyes, but revelled in the warmth his hold provided in him. The warmth Sojiro felt, the gaze he held with the kid — it truly proved he was _alive._

“Hi.”

Sojiro had thought he’d never hear the kid’s voice again. 

“Hi yourself,” Sojiro replied, “You look like shit.”

And he did. His black curls were messy — messier than usual, anyway — and damp, as if he’d recently been dumped with a bucket full of water. The grey eyes hidden underneath Ren’s mop of hair were red and irritated, and his face was a mess of bruises and cuts, clearly dealt to him by experienced fists. He was hunched over, as if to protect his chest, and he was favouring his left leg. Injured ribs, then. And Sojiro didn’t want to think about what was underneath his uniform to make him stick to his left leg like that. The kid must hurt like hell. 

Ren made a weird sound at Sojiro’s response. An attempt at laughter, Sojiro assumed. The action was cut short, though, as the kid grasped at his side in obvious agony. Sojiro’s heart clenched at the sight. 

“Ah geez,” he grabbed Ren’s arm again, as gently as he possible could, and half-guided-half-dragged him inside Leblanc. “What the hell’d they do to you?”

Once Ren was settled in one of the booth seats, Sojiro pushed away the stool he had previously been mourning on — God, two minutes ago he was sure the kid in front of him was _dead_ — and rushed behind the counter to bring Ren a glass of water and a leftover plate of curry. The kid looked dead on his feet, and it had probably been a long time since he last ate. 

“I don't know if he has a concussion or not, but he does have bunch of injuries I couldn't see while he was wearing his uniform,” Niijima said, voice carrying a stern tone that was fitting for a prosecutor, “And, they also…”

Sojiro snapped back to Niijima. He’d forgotten she was there for a second, thoughts entirely consumed by the return of his charge. Sojiro could tell he’d been beat to hell; the authorities clearly hadn't intended for Ren to walk out of there alive, no matter what. He didn't need the prosecutor who’d helped caused this to happen telling him all about it. 

“They what?” Sojiro felt his stomach sink in anticipation. “What’d they do to the kid?”

“He’s—had a very long day.”

That was a terribly unhelpful explanation. Niijima seemed to read his thoughts from his face alone, and quickly scrambled to elaborate. 

“They drugged him,” she said, “I don't know what it was, probably something illegal and experimental to get him to talk…”

_Fuck._ Sojiro sighed heavily, dropping the glass and curry in front of Ren and placing a reassuring hand on the kid’s shoulder — although to comfort which one of them he wasn't sure. The kid reached for the water greedily, and it gave Sojiro the opportunity to notice his hands. They were covered in red, angry scratches, in stark contrast to his deathly pale skin. Almost fully covered by his shirt sleeve were terrifying cut marks along his wrists, covered in dried blood. _From hand cuffs,_ Sojiro’s mind unwillingly provided for him. Sojiro felt sick. No wonder the kid was shaking like a leaf — he was high as a kite and in a whole lot of pain. Shit, Ren didn't deserve this at all. He didn't deserve any of it. 

“God… He’s just a kid, Niijima—”

Niijima wouldn’t even let Sojiro finish. “I know that! You don’t think I know—”

“Then how’d he end up like this, huh?” He just wanted the kid to be safe again. To not look so much like he was already dead, as Sojiro had believed him to be. “Beat to hell, can’t even look at me? At _me?”_

“He’s…He’s believed dead by the public, and the police, and now he’s safe, so a small price to pay for—”

Safe? _This_ was safe? Who did she think she was?

“I _know_ he’s dead! I watched it on the news, watched his cat run outta here like he’d been set on fire!”

Sojiro didn't meant to start yelling, to escalate an already tense situation, but he just couldn’t help it. He’d thought Ren was dead, that his kid’s plan had failed and he’d been forced to kill himself. And in the space of about two minutes he'd learnt his charge was actually alive, but he was beat half to death and _believed_ dead by the entire country. And now Niijima, who’d been harassing his family for the better part of this year, was in front of him saying that Ren’s horrible injuries were a ‘small price to pay’ in exchange for his temporary safety. 

“I thought he was really _gone_ , and then you show up here dragging the kid behind you looking like he’s on the verge of death anyway and you have the nerve to tell me it’s _a small price to pay?”_

Niijima blinked, lost for words. Sojiro stared her down for a few seconds more before returning his attention to Ren. He heard the kid in question take a shallow breath, and when Sojiro turned to look at him once more, Ren flinched like he’d been hit. _Ah, shit._ His head must hurt like hell, with drugs like that, and Sojiro was just screaming right in his ear. There Sojiro goes again, hurting his kids. But he had other things to worry about before he focused on his failings as a guardian. 

“Look, we clearly can’t take him to the hospital, so I’ll have to take care of him best I can here,” Sojiro couldn't stand looking at the pained expression on the kid’s face any longer. “If you get seen by anyone around the neighbourhood—”

“I understand,” Niijima said, voice stoic and expression guarded, “I’ll take my leave.”

Niijima took one last glance at Ren over her shoulder as she turned away, before meeting Sojiro’s eye with an expression that almost resembled guilt. 

“Oh, and— Niijima, I, uh…” Sojiro coughed, unsure how to continue, “Thanks. For bringing him home.”

Sae’s eyes softened at Sojiro’s admission of gratitude, and she shot him a small smile before she stepped away and left Leblanc. It was just him and the kid, now. 

“Kid, you… I shouldn't have yelled, if you’ve got a headache,” Sojiro tried to pull the kid out of his chair, one eye on Ren’s discarded plate of curry. “Come on, I think you’ve had enough—”

Suddenly, Sojiro’s grip on the kid’s arm was gone as it was wrenched back into Ren’s lap with a surprising amount of strength. Sojiro allowed his grip to loosen and focused on the kid — Ren’s face was paler than it was when he had first arrived (if such a thing could even be possible — he looked _grey_ ) and his lips were pressed together into a thin line, creating a grimace on his face that reminded Sojiro of a person about to be sick. Ren’s eyebrows were drawn together too, creating an incomprehensible image of guilt that Sojiro couldn’t hope to find a reason behind. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Sojiro questioned, eyes never leaving Ren’s face even if the boy didn’t look back up at him. 

“I’m so sorry, you were supposed to know, you should have…I should have made sure you… It’s all my fault that…”

Oh. Ren was trying to apologise for Sojiro thinking he was dead. The kid was mumbling, choking over his words in anguish, obviously desperate to tell Sojiro he hadn’t meant for him to be deceived as well. After everything the kid had gone through, having to save himself from being lynched by the corrupt government and being beat to high hell in the process, he was _still_ looking out for an old man like Sojiro. His unwavering kindness would be the end of him one day — Sojiro truly believed that, but his heart still swelled at Ren’s compassion anyway. 

“No— No, none of this is your fault, kid,” Sojiro sighed, hoping to quell some of Ren’s worries. “It’s not your fault, okay? You didn't deserve any of this. God…You’re apologising for worrying me.”

Ren seemed to relax a little, but he was still quivering. Sojiro exhaled, and pulled him off his feet into a hug. It was uncharacteristic for Sojiro — he wasn't a mother hen, and he had never been especially affectionate (and never really had the opportunity). But this kid had been all alone for months and months, and now Sojiro couldn’t stand the look he had on his face. He clearly needed comfort, and Sojiro was more than willing to give it to him. 

The kid clearly felt better at the knowledge that Sojiro wasn’t angry at him, gaining comfort from the hug, but as Ren’s legs became weak it became clear wouldn’t be able to support himself much longer. Sojiro recognised maybe it was time to face the music. He guided the kid upstairs, slowly and painstakingly, and sat him down on his bed, handing him his pyjamas — a bath would clearly have to wait until the morning, considering the kid was barely awake as it was. Sojiro returned back down to the ground floor of Leblanc, retrieving the first aid kit he kept for kitchen emergencies. He’d only bought it to adhere to the law, and he distinctly remembered calling it ‘a waste of money’ at some point — but now, he silently thanked his past self for the purchase, because Sojiro wasn’t sure he had anything else to help the kid with. 

When Sojiro made his way back to Ren, the kid was almost fully changed, slipping his shirt over his head. As the kid pulled his shirt down, Sojiro caught a glimpse of purple and black bruising of his torso before it was hidden by Ren’s pyjamas, and his stomach twisted brutally. As Sojiro made his presence known once more, Ren’s eyes snapped to him. 

“Futaba,” Ren said, his voice the loudest Sojiro had heard since he had returned home, “I need to tell her… And the others, too… Are they okay? Do they know it worked? I should go and—”

“No, kid, I’ll take care of it.” Sojiro sat by his charge’s side and put a comforting arm on his leg. “Your friends are fine. The only one that I’m worried about here is you.”

He’d talk to Futaba after he was finished here. He still had to find the kid’s cat — Morgana — since he had ran away hours earlier. Sojiro suspected it wouldn’t be too difficult, though; that cat was almost comically intuitive. From the things Ren had said earlier, Futaba probably already knew the kid had made it, not to mention Sojiro’s suspicions she had bugged the cafe. He really needed to discipline her more. Well, that’s an issue for a different day. 

“Where’s it hurt, kid?” Sojiro tried his best to make his voice sound neutral, trying to mask his overbearing worry. 

“I’m… Just sore, is all.”

Was he joking? Sojiro felt frustration well up within him, no doubt born — again — from his desperate worry. He put on what Futaba called his ‘angry dad’ expression and looked his charge in the eyes. 

“Ren.”

It seemed to work just as Sojiro intended, because the kid softened under his glare almost immediately. 

“My— My ribs hurt, like a lot… And my leg too… And…” Ren trailed off, mumbling incoherently. 

Sojiro looked down at the kids leg once he had rolled up his pyjama pants; it was a mottled mess of black, blue and purple, wrapping almost entirely around the kids thigh and being enveloped by — was that a _boot mark?_ Sojiro clenched his jaw to keep from swearing, and felt the itch to wrap his hands around someone’s throat. Specifically, the assholes that had thought it okay to crush his kid’s leg beneath their boot. He wanted to beat them to a pulp so they could feel what the kid was feeling right now, covered in bruises and cuts and aching all over. The kid was more important though, and so Sojiro swept his rage aside to be dealt with later and focused back on disinfecting and dressing the kid’s many wounds. 

Most of the cuts and bruises were surface level, like the gashes on the kid’s hands and the bruises on his face, but his legs and ribs were what was worrying Sojiro the most. His sides were almost as messed up as his leg, and looked like some kind of strange modern art, black and blue against his pale skin. Sojiro wasn’t a doctor by any means, and he therefore had no way to tell if Ren’s ribs needed urgent attention. He’d have to get them checked in the morning, somehow, despite the fact he was meant to be dead. The local clinic’s doctor should work — Sojiro knew the kid was acquaintances with her, at the very least, and Sojiro knew Takemi was trustworthy and genuine enough to keep a secret just this once. 

“I’ll have to call Takemi in the morning, for your ribs and… Whatever they drugged you with, too.”

The drug’s in the kids system were a whole other story. They only seemed to make the kid loopy, probably with the intention of getting to slip up and confess in front of the police, along with give him a killer headache — Sojiro clenched his fists once again, feeling his anger return. Sojiro hoped that apart from those effects the drugs were harmless; if they were being used by the government, they had to be mostly safe, but considering they’d intended to lynch the kid Sojiro couldn’t be sure. There was even less Sojiro could do for the drugs than he could for the kid’s ribs, but he did know he shouldn’t give the kid any other medicine until he figured out a solution for that. Unfortunately, there was nothing Sojiro could do for the kid’s pain for now but help him to bed and let him try to sleep it off. 

Sojiro’s attention was brought back to just that — the kid falling asleep — when he hummed in what Sojiro assumed was approval. Sojiro finished wrapping his wrists, holding the thin bandages in place with a metal clasp, and moved the first aid kit from the kid’s bed to his desk. Sojiro had only moved aside for a few seconds, but when he returned Ren’s head had already begun lulling forward. Sojiro caught the kid by his shoulder, knowing that if he hadn’t the kid probably would have fallen right off the bed. Ren lifted his head again, but his eyes were still closed. 

“‘m tired.” The kid’s eyelids fluttered, and if it was possible he slumped down further where he sat. “Doesn’t hurt so much, anymore…”

Sojiro sighed in relief — he hated the thought of the kid being in any pain _at all,_ but he knew it was unavoidable. This whole situation had been unavoidable, he knew that now, but it didn’t make the truth of the kid’s fate hurt any less. 

“I know, kid,” Sojiro said, helping guide Ren backwards and into his bed, careful not to jostle his ribs. 

“‘veryone okay?”

The kid must really be out of it, now. 

“Yeah, kid. Everyone but you, remember?”

“Right…”

Honestly, ten minutes ago the kid was asleep where he stood, but now he was being stubborn as a bull. Teenagers and their perceived invincibility, Sojiro mused. He’d been like that one day, too. 

“You can go to sleep, now, kid.”

“You’ll be there? In the morning?”

Sojiro inhaled slowly, recognising the kid’s desperate need for comfort. He was half asleep and had no filter, and was searching for all the security he could get after his traumatising experience. Sojiro ruffled the kid’s hair, and Ren softly smiled. 

“Of course, kid. Always.”

The kid manages one more sleepy sentence before he finally drifts off. 

“Thanks, Dad…”

Sojiro didn’t know how long he stayed sitting beside the kid’s bed, watching over him, making sure he was okay — but when he did return back downstairs, he made sure to wash his face before heading back to his house, because he’d be damned if Futaba found out he’d been crying over his kids again. He just couldn’t help it, though. God only knows how Sojiro had ended up adopting two of the greatest kid’s he’d ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> coffee dad loves his reckless kids TTuTT Sojiro certainly didn't sign up for this when he adopted a delinquent on probation, smh.


End file.
